Retaliation (The Praegressus Project Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  But Hecate only stared back, his eyes wide, his face expectant, and Susan realised his last words had not been a statement – but a question.

  She trembled in his arms, and she felt a distant memory, a disgust, a voice screaming out in rebellion. But looking into Hecate’s eyes, she could not think why. All memory was fading, falling away, until she could only remember this cave, this place, this moment.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  25

  Liz took a long breath as the elevator dinged and the heavy steel doors clanged open. She cast a furtive glance outside before nodding at Ashley to take the lead. Her friend forced a grin, though her eyes betrayed her nerves. She pulled the raincoat tighter around her shoulders, and then stepped from the elevator. Liz, Chris and Jasmine followed close on her heels.

  They had landed on the roof of the ten-storey library to avoid the guards checking university IDs at the gates. According to Ashley, this was the only security measure the university took to stop interlopers, but Liz still couldn’t help but hold her breath as they moved towards the exit. Even here on the ground floor, rows of books stretched out around them, and the scent of old paper was strong on the air.

  As they neared the sliding glass doors, Ashley slowed. Following the direction of her gaze, Liz saw the guard standing beside the exit. He wore a blue uniform and a handgun at his side, but his eyes were bored and he was practically leaning against the wall. Moving forward, Liz looped her arm through Ashley’s. Laughing, she nodded towards the exit.

  “I know, Professor McKenzie’s a bore. But just another hour and we’re done for the day.” She tugged on Ashley’s arm and together they walked out the glass doors, Chris and Jasmine a step behind them. The guard didn’t give them a second glance.

  Outside, a fine rain was falling, but beneath their raincoats they were already soaked from their flight. Liz wasn’t complaining though – with the low-lying cloud, there was no chance anyone had spotted their approach. Releasing Ashley’s arm, she flashed her a smile.

  “Easy!” she said, “So, where to now?”

  “The engineering department, according to the schedule I looked up. It starts in ten minutes.”

  Liz frowned. “Are you sure you got that right? I thought genetics was a biology class.”

  Ashley grinned. “Don’t get me started. The schedules here don’t make any sense. Now come on, we don’t want to be late,” she moved off without waiting for an answer.

  “Were you ever late in your life?” Liz called as she followed her.

  She grinned as Ashley glared back at her. “Of course I was,” she paused, her eyes growing distant for a second, “I just can’t remember when.”

  Beside them, Chris chuckled and Liz only shook her head. In the first moment they’d met, Ashley had seemed the model of perfection. With her slim legs and perfect curves, she could have been a fashion model in another life. While Halt’s cruelty had shattered that image, Liz was still not surprised to learn Ashley had started university early. There was certainly more to the girl than looks.

  Liz shivered as the wind howled around them. Without prompting, Ashley picked up the pace. Liz could feel the water dripping from her feathers and down her back, but there was little she could do about it. Around them, the other students were just as soaked. They moved quickly through the open squares, heads down and shoulders hunched against the rain. That at least served their purposes – no one was paying attention to the four strangers in their midst.

  When they finally moved back indoors, they kept their hoods up, aware that even here their faces might be recognised. Many of the other students did the same, apparently in too much of a rush to adjust their clothing.

  Watching them, Liz swallowed as memories of her old boarding school rose from the back of her mind. Those memories were behind her now, but they hurt all the same. Far from home, in an unfamiliar city, and the only student from the country, Liz had been desperately lonely in the school.

  It might have been different if she’d found friends. But with her country accent and olive skin, there was no hiding her background. The other children had looked down on her, thinking her beneath them. They had played cruel pranks on her when the teachers weren’t watching. Some had even stooped to ambushing her while she was alone, though they soon learned she’d been raised far rougher than them.

  The students moving along the corridor with them now looked much the same as the ones who had tormented her all those years ago. Their expensive clothes stank of privilege, and Liz’s stomach roiled as she struggled with her old prejudice. She knew better now. Ashley had been one of these teenagers, and Chris had dreamed of joining them.

  We’re not all evil, Liz. Some of us want to fix things, want the government to be held to account.

  She smiled. Chris had said that, a long time ago, as they sat alone in their cell. She hoped he was right. They would need these young minds on their side if the government fell. Someone would need to put the pieces of their nation back together, and the older generation had failed miserably at the task.

  Idly, Liz wondered if she would have a chance to join them one day. If things changed, maybe there would be a place for her here. She wondered what it would be like to walk among these students as an equal, to attend lectures in science or engineering and expand her mind. For a moment she allowed her thoughts to drift, to imagine…

  Then she shook her head, and the cold hands of reality wrapped themselves around her heart. Even if they somehow won, and brought down the government, she could never study here. Not now. Not with the deadly nematocysts in her skin, and the wings and the Chead rages. If the students in her boarding school could not accept her before, they would never accept the freak of nature she had become.

  Pushing aside the depressing thoughts, she watched Ashley draw to a stop ahead of them. A crowd of students barred their path, gathering around a set of massive double doors. Ashley flashed her a nervous look, her hands deep in her pockets.

  “This is it,” she shouted over the roar of a hundred voices.

  The volume increased as the double doors cracked open, and a second crowd of students began to pour out of the lecture theatre. Those outside pressed forward as well, creating a bottleneck where the two groups came together. Watching them, Liz shook her head, and wondered just what the university was teaching them.

  When the students outside finally moved apart to let the departing students through, the crowd thinned, and it was soon their turn to move inside. Sucking in a breath, Liz smiled at the others, and decided it was her turn to take the lead. She grabbed Ashley’s hand again and together they followed the crowd through the double doors.

  Inside, she blinked as the bright lights of the lecture theatre stung her eyes. When she looked around, she was shocked at the size of the room they’d entered. Steps led down from the double doors to the carpeted stage, where a lonely lectern stood empty. Foldable seats and desks stretched out in rows to either side of them, dropping down until they were on the same level as the stage. There had to be at least four hundred seats, though the students had already filled half of them.

  Spying a row of seats still free halfway down the stairwell, Liz quickly moved towards them, dragging Ashley with her. Sliding down the row, she took a seat and leaned back in her chair, trying to relax. With everyone facing the front of the lecture theatre, no one could see her face unless they turned around, so she reached up and pulled off her hood.

  At that moment, the rumbling of voices started to tail off, and for a second Liz thought she’d made a horrible mistake. She shrank down in her seat as the room fell silent, her wings twitching beneath her jacket. Then her eyes caught sight of the lectern, where a grey-haired man was now standing. She blinked, wondering where he had come from, and then noticed the door on the side of the stage with a glowing ‘EXIT’ sign above it.

  There was a small computer at the lectern, and the man tapped a few buttons, prompting the white wall behind him to light up. Glancing around,
Liz found a long steel beam stretching over head, and a pair of projectors pointed at the front wall.

  Returning her gaze to the professor, she studied his face, searching for some hint of what had befallen the Texan. Even from halfway up the theatre, her eyes could make him out with crystal clarity. He had a strong face, though he had clearly seen better days. Age had worn away the hard edges of his cheekbones, and the skin of his cheeks hung in bags. His eyes were red, as though he had not been sleeping well, and while he wore an expensive suit, it’s fabric was creased and he had a stain on his collar.

  Licking his lips, he glanced up at the students, then back to his computer screen. He tapped a few more buttons, and the white light on the wall flickered. The image of a chromosome appeared. Beside it, a young man stared down at the lecture theatre with the cold grey eyes of the Chead.

  Liz shivered and glanced at the others, the hairs on her neck standing up. They stared back, their cheeks gaunt and eyes wide. She could see the question on their faces – the same one running through her minds.

  Is it a coincidence?

  Either way, they had nowhere to go now. They were stuck in the middle of the row, hemmed in by students on either side of them. If they got up now, every eye on the room would be on them. Taking a breath, Liz shook her head, and Chris nodded back at her.

  Stay put, his eyes said. Don’t panic.

  Around the lecture theatre, the other students had seen the image too. The low buzz of their voices had returned, and was quickly growing louder. The image had obviously disturbed some students. Then, just as it seemed the whole room would erupt, the speakers in the corner of the room crackled, and an old voice spoke over the din.

  “Welcome to Genetics 201.”

  26

  Liz gripped the desk in front of her as the professor’s voice echoed through the room. Around her, the students had fallen silent, as every face in the room turned to look at the man.

  Below, Professor McKenzie placed his hands on the lectern and looked up at them. Liz did her best not to slide down in her chair, uncomfortably aware of how exposed they were. The only protection they had was numbers – with the theatre near capacity, the professor was looking up at almost four hundred faces. Even so, Liz couldn’t help but feel as though he was staring directly at her.

  “The Chead,” she flinched as his voice crackled through the speakers again, “They need no introduction. They’ve been a plague on this country for decades, though the infection has only recently reached our sheltered lives in the cities.”

  He released the lectern and moved out into the centre of the stage. Liz saw he wore a wireless microphone and shook her head. Either the equipment was decades old, or the university had more of a budge than her boarding school.

  McKenzie put his hands behind his back as he continued. “I have discussed them many times in this class, though always in a theoretical manner. Details of the Chead virus, its genetic code, its make-up, have always been restricted. We can’t have such information becoming public knowledge – least some terrorist or foreign power decide to recreate it, and add to our misery.”

  He stopped, turning to face the rows of watching students. “Or so they say.”

  The breath caught in Liz’s throat. She bit her lip, wondering if the others read his words the same as she had. Did this mean the Texan had succeeded in winning the professor over to their cause? Had he sequenced Mira’s DNA and found a link between the Chead and themselves?

  “As you will all recall, in the past I have been critical of the government’s response to this epidemic. Even recently, with their bizarre experiments, I have questioned their strategy. As far as we are aware, even the mechanism by which the virus spreads remains a mystery.”

  Liz wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that the government was well aware of how the virus found its victims. They had been spreading it for decades, disseminating it amongst the rural communities, dividing them with fear. With the virus running amok, you never knew who would be the next to turn. It made it difficult to trust.

  And yet, the rural men and women Liz had met on the run had shown her more compassion than anyone from the city ever had. That is, until she’d met Chris. Her cheeks flushed as she thought of him, and she quickly forced herself to focus on the professor’s words.

  “But despite my criticism, I have remained a patriot. I have supported our government through thick and thin.” He sighed and returned to his lectern. Studying him, Liz noticed the veins popping from his neck, and the perspiration on his brow. “Over the years I have decried the rebels and terrorists who sought to tear down our young nation. So when a… dissident… came to me a few days ago, I did what any patriot would do. I ensured he was brought to justice, before his wild ravings could cause any more harm.”

  A vice closed around Liz’s heart. She shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the wet feathers dripping down her back. The professor was talking about Mike. The answer to their first question had been answered. The Texan had been exposed, taken by the government.

  “But there was something about what this dissident said,” the professor went on suddenly, “Something he said that haunted me at night. I couldn’t help but wonder… what if he was right? I knew it couldn’t be true, but still the question plagued me. So I took what he had given me, and set out to prove him wrong.”

  “The man I betrayed gave me a feather. He told me the feather belonged to one of the government’s experiments – yes, the ones with wings. He also said the owner had also once been Chead. Though I disbelieved his claim, I kept the feather from the agents who came to arrest him. For my own peace of mind, I set out to sequence its DNA. I was convinced the feather would prove the man mad, that it would belong to nothing more than a common pigeon.”

  He pressed a button on the screen, and the image flickered again. The Chead vanished, replaced by a multicoloured double helix of DNA. The strands were mostly a dull grey, but in places the grey was banded by slivers of red.

  “Unfortunately, the sample proved me wrong. The host was undoubtedly human, but there were distinct anomalies within her DNA. While mapping her genome, I found genetic markers that had no business in human DNA. Genes from species of avian, feline, canine, cnidaria and a dozen other animal families were present. And then I realised these genes were linked by the presence of the Porcine Endogenous Retrovirus, or PERV, for those of you who remember Genetics 101.”

  “Not long after I made this discover, I realised the genetic markers for the PERV virus had been replicated. Two pairs of the virus’s DNA were present. Which meant I wasn’t looking at one virus, but two. The rebel had been right – the subject had been infected with a modified strain of the PERV virus, and then re-infected with another strain, almost identical in nature.”

  The whispers around the room were growing, but the professor made no effort to silence them. Looking around, Liz saw that several students were standing, while others only stared, their hands held over their mouths.

  “I did not have time to map out every modification made between the two strains, but the source of the DNA – a human feather – clearly suggests the sample came from our President’s new creatures. Which means one of these strains was used to create them. The other strain…” he trailed off, closing his eyes for a second, before continuing, “It would appear, from the genes incorporated into its makeup, that the other strain is the Chead virus.”

  By now the whole class was on their feet. A roar of voices echoed around the room, threatening to drown out the professor’s voice. Still he went on, though with each word his shoulders sagged further, as though the very act of speaking was draining the life from him.

  “As you can see from the images behind me, the two strains of the virus are almost identical. They are clearly related. One was created from the other. This would be inconceivable without a pure sample of the Chead virus. But here, the virus has been fully integrated into the host’s genome. Its genetic mechanism to revert to its active f
orm has been removed. That means it is not possible to retrieve a sample of the original virus from an infected host.”

  The professor took a breath. “Which means… whoever created our President’s creatures, must have had access to the source of the Chead virus,” he shook his head, “I fear it means our beloved government has been behind this plague all along.”

  27

  “What’s on TV, Mira?” Sam asked as he lowered himself onto the sofa beside the young girl.

  The tiny CRT television sat on the coffee table in the corner of the room. A man on the screen was gesturing at a map of the west coast, pointing to the spinning weather system approaching the city. Outside, rain lashed at the windows. It had been growing steadily stronger all morning, and Sam hoped Ashley would be okay in the wild weather. She had less experience flying than the others.

  Mira said nothing, but she snuggled closer on the couch. Grinning, Sam shook his head. Her wound was healing nicely – to the point that Eve had finally let up with her nagging. In fact, the woman had taken to avoiding them altogether. He hadn’t seen her all morning, and when he’d asked Maria about her, Chris’s grandmother had only shrugged and said she’d gone out for the day.

  But Sam had seen the look in the doctor’s eyes last night when she’d changed their dressings. Her face had paled as she studied Mira’s wound, and she’d muttered something about their being ‘quick healers.’ Afterwards, Eve had been uncharacteristically quiet, and had disappeared a few minutes later.

  Sam could hardly blame her. He’d noticed the stares of the men and women who passed through the safehouse over the last week. When they stretched their wings, it was enough to make grown men stop what they were doing and stare. But wings were one thing – being able to heal from bullet wounds in a matter of weeks was altogether different. It suggested the changes to their physiology were far more than skin deep. Apparently, that had been enough to disturb the kindly old doctor.